Vincent
LaMarca (Robert DeNiro) is a decorated New York City cop. He has
a good-natured partner, Reg (George Dzunda), and a non-committal
relationship built around sex and companionship with his
downstairs neighbor Michelle (Frances McDormand). Even better,
LaMarca loves his job and the city he protects, content to just
float through the remaining days of his life in a useful
contentment.
He also has
a past; a failed marriage resulting in abuse and divorce, a drug
addicted son (James Franco) he hardly knows and feelings of
guilt that trace all the way back to his days as a child in Long
Island. So when his son is implicated in the murder of a Long
Island drug dealer, past remorse and present contentment
collide. It is a story familial responsibility and
accountability, as honored detective must hunt down – and maybe
kill – his own son.
The true
story told in City by the Sea by Scottish director
Michael Caton-Jones is so much stranger than the fictionalized
version on the screen. In the 1997 Esquire article “Mark
of a Murder,” journalist Mike McAlary vividly paints the complex
story of the LaMarca family – father convicted and electrocuted
for killing a child, son a decorated New York police officer,
grandson habitual drug user convicted of killing a dealer. It’s
a fascinating piece, and a McAlary frames it as a cautionary
epic of redemption and unbearable fate.
Too bad
screenwriter Ken Hixon has axed away much of the meat of that
story, and instead replaced it with so much “movie of the week”
blandness. Many of the elements in City by the Sea reek
of cliché, from the doomed down-to-earth best friend and partner
to the woman with a heart of gold who only exists to give our
protagonist insight into his own redemption.
Yet,
City by the Sea works much of the time. Most of the credit
to that has to go to Caton-Jones’ excellent ensemble. By this
point, DeNiro should probably retire from playing New York cops
as, much like Dennis Franz of NYPD Blue fame, he can
probably act them in his sleep. Yet, he’s surprisingly effective
much of the way here, bringing a tenderness and vulnerability
we’ve seldom seen.
Even better
is young Franco (he of the James Dean cable bio-pic from last
year). He’s distantly eerie as the drug-riddled Joey LaMarca,
tenderly conveying the lost youth and dreams of fractured
humanity. Also putting in surprisingly fine work is Eliza Dushku
(TV’sFaith from Buffy the Vampire Slayer) as the
younger LaMarca’s struggling-to-stay-clean girlfriend Gina.
So why
doesn’t it work? Hixon’s screenplay keeps us too distant from
the very real emotionalism of the piece. It feels like a
theatrical play that has been unsuccessfully “opened-up” for the
cinema, diluting the pathos and ethereal connection only live
theater can muster over an audience. It doesn’t help that much
of City by the Sea plays so precisely lock step in the
same order as so many other policiers. It’s difficult to muster
up much excitement as the film lurches to its pre-ordained
conclusion.
There are a couple of highly
effective scenes that really showcase the type of film that
almost was or could have been. One is an early confrontation
between LaMarca and his ex-wife (Patti LuPone) just after he’s
learned his son has probably killed a man. They haven’t bothered
to see each other in years and the resulting clash is
unflinchingly hostile, but in a surprisingly aggressively honest
way.
The other
is a meeting between Gina and LaMarca, as she brings over the
latter’s up-to-now unknown grandson. The scene and resulting
chaos play out playfully, serene even, yet with an unrelenting
air of grim tension. The haunted finality of a family in
irreparable ruin that passes in a seconds-only glance between
LaMarca and Gina as the baby happily plays on the floor is
heartbreakingly real. A split-second moment that sets City by
the Sea at powerful heights it can’t get back to.
